Once Upon a Broken Heart
by Hakkai's Lady
Summary: The lives of Severus Snape and Harry Potter have never been easy, and after the war things are not improving. Snape will be forever branded by his actions in HPB and Harry is having difficulty adjusting to life with a disability.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Written for a request by LibbyLooLynne. "A crippled!Harry/Severus story set after HPB." This story also overlaps with a challenge fic that I am writing (Prisoners Of the Moon.)

Once Upon A Broken Heart

Chapter 1: Fate

_It was all over. The savior of the wizarding world was lying face down in the mud bleeding. He'd lost far too much blood to care that he had killed Voldemort. At the moment, the world was dim. All he knew was pain and the vague sensation of rain falling on his lifeless body. His eyes were open but he really didn't see anything beside the ravaged corpses around him. There was a sound. Someone was speaking, calling his name. He knew that voice, or he thought he did. Everything went quiet and dark. Was he dying? He hoped he was. _

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Severus Snape sat against a dungeon wall in chains. The most sardonic of smiles touched his lips. He had always known it would come to this. Despite what Dumbledore had told him, there had never been a time when he had held any real optimism for their plan. He had killed Albus Dumbledore, and there was nothing that could exonerate him from that simple fact. The Ministry had scheduled his execution for two days from now. With the loss of the Dementors, the practice of beheading was back in fashion. Those who called it barbaric knew nothing of what the Dementor's Kiss had been. Snape's only comfort was in that he had at least escaped that fate.

Being slated for execution wasn't a surprising event in Severus' life. Every good deed was deserving of some form of gruesome punishment. Spying for the light had earned him a life of solitude and frequent torture. Saving Draco Malfoy had cost him his one and only true friend. Lastly, carrying Harry Potter's broken and bleeding form to St. Mungo's had gotten him arrested. And people wondered why he was a heartless bastard!

"At least things can't get any worse," he murmured sarcastically. He was safe in saying that, because at the moment things really couldn't get worse. With Voldemort dead, this was the most horrid scenario he could envision. Though he hadn't been outright tortured or even beaten, the Ministry officials hadn't been delicate with him. He was certain he'd broken ribs when he was unceremoniously tossed into his cell, and he wrists and ankle were oozing blood and puss from beneath the manacles. They did feed him, but it was barely enough to keep him alive until they could kill him. As the murderer of one of the most beloved wizards of all time, he did not expect to be treated kindly.

He could have escaped. The thought of leaving Potter to die, and getting the hell out of there had crossed his mind. After all, Snape had done his good deeds. He had been pivotal in Voldemorts downfall. If he hadn't stepped in front of Harry and taken the crucio curse meant for Potter, the boy never would have reached his wand and cast the curse to end it all. But he couldn't do it. Albus' spirit was there with him, telling him to save Harry. The boy had a life to live, a life that he had earned. In the end, he couldn't leave Potter there. The irony of this all wasn't lost on Severus, and he was a man who respected irony.

Down the hall came a shuffle of footsteps. Even in deepest dungeon where they had put him, there were guard patrols, and he didn't look up until he heard the harsh screeching of the cell door. It hurt to lift his head, but soon he was looking up at Kingsly Shacklebolt who was flanked by several guards. "Severus Snape, some things have come to light, and I have some questions for you."

"Make it fast. Can you see what a busy man I am, Shacklebolt?" Snape remarked with some of his former wryness. Being in this rat-infested hole hadn't improved his social skills in the least.

"Harry Potter has woken up in St. Mungo's."

"After only three weeks? The boy really is a marvel," Snape quipped. Trust Harry Potter to turn waking up into an event.

Shacklebolt remain stoic. "His story has caused us to reevalute your case. Mr. Potter has told us that you were instrumental in You-Know-Who's demise. That you destroyed two of the Horocruxes yourself even, and then put yourself in between Mr. Potter and a curse." Shacklebolt's face contorted as though he were having difficulty saying what he must. "He also claimed that Dumbledore's death was planned by none other than Dumbledore himself to get you closer and keep Mr. Malfoy safe. Is this true?"

"And if it is? Does that change the fact that I killed him?" Snape's eyes were no more that onyx slits in his pale face.

"Answer the question."

"It is."

Shacklebold lowered his head slightly in what could barely be called a nod. "Release him. See that a medi-witch tends to his wounds," he told the guards as he turned on his heel.

"Is that all?" Snape called after him.

The other wizard paused just long enough to answer. "From what evidence we have gathered from Harry's pensive, and records left by Dumbledore, we know enough to let you go."

Oh, Fate was a fickly mistress.

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Harry Potter's prison was decidedly brighter than Snape's. Rather than stone walls and steel bars, he was surrounded by a myriad of flowers and gifts. An adoring public had showered him with all sorts little tokens of their appreciation. His room was the most colorful place in the entire hospital. It was so crowded that Dobby had begun taking a large portion of the gifts to Godric's Hollow for storage. It seemed the wizarding world would never stop sending more and more useless junk to his room.

He wanted to rip the flowers to shreds. He wanted to throw things and scream. He wanted to tell them all how much he hated them. More than anything, he wanted to get up and run out of this place. But he couldn't. All he did was lie there placidly with a blank stare. If someone asked him a question, he would answer politely. If someone gave him something, he would thank them. The Boy Who Lived was now nothing more than a doll.

It was a miracle he had survived. Everyone agreed that if Snape hadn't gotten him to the hospital so quickly, he would have died. As it was, he had just barely made it. A large portion of his bones had been crushed to a pulp by the sheer force of his own spell. Combined with the injuries he had sustained fighting the Death Eaters, almost no one had believed he would live through it, let alone wake from his coma. Magic had done all it could do to repair his body. He would live, they knew that now, but he would never be the same. Potions and spells had mended his bones, and replenished his blood. They repaired his internal organs, and reinflated his left lung. Even the majority of his scars had been healed. To look at Harry Potter, one would think that he was well on his way to being back on his broom. The problem lied a little deeper than that. His nerves had been destroyed as well as his bones. Again, potions and spells could only take things so far. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, could not move his legs.

Harry knew that from the bowels of hell Tom Riddle was laughing.

From his bed, Harry could see that it was a bright and sunny day outside. He suspected Hermione would be along to ask him to go for a "walk" with her shortly. In the two weeks since he's been awake and "healed," she had made an annoying habit of doing things like that. It made her feel better to push him around and talk to him, all the while telling herself what a good friend she was. He could almost hate her for it. Hermione wasn't his only visitor. His room had been made charmed so that only a select few people aside from the hospital staff could find it. Remus, the remaining Weasley's, and Neville Longbottom had all been coming to see him regularly.

By lunchtime, he had assured himself that Hermione had found something else to do that day, which suited him just fine. The nurse that came in to feed him was named Elsa. She was a no-nonsense witch with an air that reminded him of Madame Pompfrey. Setting a tray down before him, she began the routine of helping him sitting up to eat. "I hope you are going to eat more today than you did yesterday," she commented.

"I'll try," he replied. In truth, he had no desire to eat anything. Having people do the simplest of tasks for him was so degrading that it made him want to break down into tears, but those tears never came. All he had was this odd calm.

When she finished, she set the tray over his lap. "You'll be starting your therapy tomorrow," she told.

"Am I? Will I be staying here still?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. You'll be transferred to another center."

Harry nodded. "I'm not hungry anymore," he told her swallowing the lump in his throat. If he did eat more, he was liable to throw it back up.

His life had been so promising once, and now here he was. Fate was a fickle mistress.


	2. Chapter 2

AN I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS STORY WAS LISTED WRONG! It comes up "Harry P" and "Severus S" on my end, and has since I posted it. If it is still being listed under Tonks, it is no fault of mine. I would say it is a problem on the site's end.

Chapter 2: Happy?

One Year Later

Harry laid his head flat on his desk. The thought had occurred to him that if he hit his head hard enough, he could knock himself out. With any luck, he'd stay out cold until the next few days past. So it had been a year? Did everyone have to make such a big deal about it? He sighed deeply. Yes, he supposed they did. He knew what Voldemort's defeat had meant to the wizarding world, but that didn't change the fact that if he heard one more person thank him he would go stark raving mad.

A knock at the door interrupted Harry's head-to-desk planning. He put his glasses back on, and looked at the witch in the doorway. She was quite tall, and slender with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She had the "Barbie Doll" look, as muggles would put it, but she was actually very sincere. "Are you feeling alright?" Isabelle asked setting a thick file folder down.

"Fine," he replied straightening himself up. Isabelle had a habit of playing den mother to all her coworkers. After six months at the ministry, Harry had learned to lie through his teeth where she was concerned. "What do you have for me?"

"Nothing all that special. There have been a few disturbances, but nothing too outrageous," she told him. Isabelle tapped her long nails on his desk. "Any plans for tomorrow?"

He shrugged. There was no way he was going to answer that one. The less people fussed over him, the happier he would be.

"Everyone in the ministry seems to think that you're going to meet with the Minister of Magic." She was trying to pry more out of him, and doing a poor job of it.

Harry really did hate these kinds of conversations. "Actually, Belle, I have a bit of a headache. I think I'm going to head home for the day."

If his abruptness hurt the witch, she didn't show it. "Alright then," she said with a smile. "I will plan on seeing you tomorrow."

"Errr, tomorrow. Yes," he lied. Picking up his cane, Harry limped as fast as his legs would carry him to the door, and disapperated.

Safe inside Godric's Hollow, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No one knew what he had planned for the following day, and he was glad to keep it that way. He was going to have to be sneaky about it as it was. The wards on Godric's Hollow were still amazingly stiff. Virtually no one could get in or out without Harry's knowledge. His privacy thus far had been kept, but he was not taking chances.

He went into his bedroom—which had been magically relocated to the first floor—and changed into comfortable muggle clothes. Maybe it was growing up in a non-magic household, but Harry still found muggle clothing to feel and look better on him. He'd take a sweatshirt and jeans over robes any day. That settled, he began packing.

Harry was completely aware of what kind of stir he was going to cause, but at the current point and time, he was having trouble summoning up the effort to care. They wanted him to meet with Minister and have his picture taken. They all wanted to see him play the roll of hero with grace, but he just couldn't do it. Not when, in his mind, there were wizards and witches who deserved credit being ignored. True, he had cast the spell to end the reign of Lord Voldemort, but he had not fought the war alone as so many publications seemed to insinuate. Were they really completely ignorant of everything the Order had done? How could they forget the Weasleys, and Longbottoms? Did Remus' status as a werewolf overpower his status as a hero? No, Harry couldn't take it. He absolutely refused to play into this kind of sham, and that was why he was leaving.

With his bags packed and the arrangements made, Harry would slip anonymously into the muggle world until all of this anniversary business was over with. He snorted at the thought that he'd be missed at work. They had him set up at a meaningless little desk job just so he could be listed as a "ministry official." All he ever did was look over files and determine if Aurors should be sent in. Anyone who knew how the system worked realized what kind of rubbish this was. If Aurors were needed, they were sent. What he was really doing was giving the ministry a friendly out. If Mr. So-and-so in Sussex forgot to put on his glasses and mistook an old tree blowing in the wind for a dementor, he would politely tell him that the Aurors were investigating other cases. Because the bad news came for none other that Harry Potter, people were much more willing to let things slide. He doubted the ministry would crumble at the foundations if he was absent for a few days. In fact, he was contemplating not returning at all.

Next, Harry did something he never thought he would do; he put the knowledge he had gained in potions class to good use. He had brewed a batch of an aging serum earlier the day before. By his estimation, the potion looked as it should, and smelled…well, he wasn't exactly sure how it should smell. "Here it goes," Harry mutterd to himself before draining the bottle. YUCK! It was one of the most foul tasting things he could ever remember drinking, and he had ingested more than his fair share of potions in the infirmary.

He felt odd. Somewhat tingly. Looking at his hands, he saw the skin there begin to whither, and the bones became more pronounced. He walked up to the mirror to see if he had gotten it right. Indeed, he had. His hair was now a snowy white, and thinner than before. His face was almost unrecognizable. The transformation from nineteen year old Harry Potter to an unknown ninety year old man went smoothly. He smiled at his reflection. "Ha, let's see them try and stop me."

Harry decided to test his appearance. Throwing on a clean set of robes, Harry took a deep breath and walked out his front door. To his delight, no one noticed him as he made his way through the wizarding side of London. In the end, he couldn't resist the temptation that The Leaky Cauldron presented.

No one looked up at him as he entered the tavern. There were a few groups of wizards sitting around, but none that looked particularly sprightly. Harry had to hold back his smile as he sat down at the bar unharrassed for the first time since he had come to the wizarding world. The bartender didn't seem to notice Harry at all until he cleared his throat. Harry ordered a drink, and let his eyes roam the barroom. He hadn't been there very long when a very familiar form walked through the door.

An emotion Harry couldn't name stirred in his stomach. Was it hate? Anger? Resentment? All of those were present, but what took Harry off guard was the slight appearance of pity. The year had not been kind to Severus. His black robes were in need of mending. Slight traces of silver were beginning to show at the potions master's temples. His eyes were surrounded by new lines, and underscored by dark circles. Snape had the look of a man who had barricaded himself in a room with no light or food. This was not the formidable man Harry remembered.

The entire feeling of The Leaky Cauldron shifted. Everyone seemed to be looking at this man with a deep seeded hatred. They had not forgotten that he had killed Albus Dumbledore, and neither had Harry. How could he? Harry had been there through it all. But his memories of the event had been changed by what he now knew. He would never forget the day that Harry realized that Dumbledore had been pleading for Snape to take his life, not spare it. Yet that did not change his bitter feelings for the man. He may pity Snape, but in the end, he was no better than the rest of the bar patrons. He could not forgive.

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Severus swore under his breath as he entered The Leaky Cauldron. He despised the way every eye was locked on him the moment he walked through the door. If it wasn't necessary, he would never have left the sanctuary of his home, but he had a very specific purpose for coming here today. Spotting Richard in a secluded table in the back, Snape ignored the stares that followed him.

Richard Briden was a former housemate of Snapes, though he had avoided becoming a Deatheater. He had been one of the few people who were willing to deal with Severus after the war. In typical Slytherin fashion, he bought potions from Snape at ridiculously low price because he knew Severus was in no position to argue. Briden provided the majority of the supplies, Snape did the work, and Briden advertised the finest potions in England as his own. It was an utterly detestable set up, but it served its purpose.

"What do you want this time?" Severus asked emotionlessly skipping the pleasantries.

Briden didn't seem to care about Snapes lack of manners. He pulled out a shrunken package and a list. "It's all there. And when are you going to have those experimental potions for me?"

It took all of Severus' discipline not to throttle the man. True, he allowed Briden to claim Severus' work as his own, yet it did not mean that he enjoyed it. "Soon," Snape hissed.

Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over Severus. As a spy, he had developed a keen sense of when he was being watched. He cast a steady glance around the room, and noticed an old man gazing at him intently. There was something very familiar about the man, something that Severus couldn't place for the life of him. He frowned, and turned back to Briden. "Is that all?"

Briden nodded slightly. "Hurry up with this batch. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Severus stayed even after Briden had left the tavern. The old man sat at the bar quietly, and stole quick looks over at him. Biding his time, Snape took a sip of his drink. He wasn't about to do anything rash or stupid. Something told him the old man had a more reason to stare at him than any of the other gawking patrons. Finally, the old man picked up his cane and made his way over. Severus noticed the bright green eyes, and the slightest hint of a scar peeking out from under the man's white hair.

A sneer came to Severus' lips. "What do you want, Potter?" he asked ever so quietly.

The "old" man's eyes widened. "I have a proposition for you, Snape."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: I'll Fly Away

Harry stared out his hotel window. Hawaii really was a beautiful place, but that wasn't his main reason for coming. The islands were just as far as he could get away from home, and he doubted anyone would think to look there. He imagined he'd come back in a week or two by then the whole thing should be calmer and he could just go on with his life from there. His friends were going to be furious with him. Hermione was going to have a royal fit, and he didn't imagine Remus would take it well either. Telling them hadn't been an option because they would all try and help him though this "difficult" time. He wasn't even sure it was a truly difficult time. Yes, there were things that he would rather forget, but he had a rather numb feeling about it. The sound of the waves was soothing. Harry could almost get used to this. With fall in London, he found that his legs and back ached terribly, but the warmer climate here agreed with him. He might even venture out of the hotel room tomorrow. So far, he had been content to sit in his room reading.

His run in with Snape three days ago had sapped some of his adventurous spirit. The elation he had felt at the success of his disguise was killed by simply looking at his former professor. Yet, what followed was quite bizarre. It had given Harry something new to think about. His mind drifted back to that day.

Snape had followed him to Godric's Hollow under a disguise of his own, and the two had settled--albeit uncomfortably--into Harry's study. "So what is this proposition, Potter?" Snape asked cautiously.

"I want you find a way to heal me," Harry said stiffly. He wasn't expecting Snape's dark laughter. "What's so funny?"

"Really, Potter, you don't think I'll poison you?" the potions master asked.

Now it was Harry's turn to laugh. "I can't believe that you still think you can frighten me. If you kill me, you kill me. The only one who will suffer for it is you. I doubt the Ministry will take kindly to you murdering their good, little trophy."

If Snape was surprised by his former student's bitterness, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply nodded. "But what do I have to gain from helping you?"

"I'll pay you well for it, and I'm sure the backing of The-Boy-Who-Lived will do some good for your reputation. You can refurbish your potions lab and spend the rest of your life brewing to your black heart's content," Harry told him as he wrote down a figure.

Snape raised a brow at the number on the parchment. "You can afford to pay me this much? I knew your father had left his brat well off, but this…"

"I won't starve in a poor house, but I don't see how it's any difference to you. I can always write a book and make that back easily."

"You're right--I don't care if you starve. Very well, I accept your deal, Potter, but keep in mind this means you become my test subject, and I can promise the results will always be pleasant. Ask Lupin about the early Wolfsbane, if you doubt it." Snape paused. "You had better be sure it is worth it to you."

Harry nodded gravely. "You have no idea what it is worth to me. My entire future is gone."

Something told Harry that Snape wasn't entirely sympathetic. The dark man pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to banish a headache. "You still haven't lost your flair for melodrama. For Merlin's sake you have a limp, but your still standing on your own two feet, Potter."

A sardonic smile touched Harry's lips as he lifted his pant leg to reveal the charmed braces beneath. "Yes, but not of my own strength."

Unfazed, Snape crossed his arms. "And you made it out alive…not like the Weasley boy."

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker and glass around the room began to crack. A wind began swirl through study. An unearthly voice came from Harry. "Don't you dare speak to me about Ron!"

The magical aura around the young man was enough to make Snape step back. "So you are as strong as they say you are."

Harry didn't look at Snape when he finally did speak. "Just get out, Snape. Owl me when you have something….here this should be a good start for supplies," he added accio'ing a bag of gold.

Snape sneered as he took the bag. "Give me a month or so, and I will have something at least. I have a prior engagement."

Harry shrugged.

The memory faded as Harry leaned on the railing. The Hawaiian sunset was breathtaking over the water. He would go down and walk along the beach, but sand wasn't exactly ideal for his unsteady gait. Instead, he decided to settle for a dip in the pool.

The Triwizard competition seemed like it had happened to someone else, and in the time between, Harry hadn't improved on his swimming. He stayed to the shallow end where the water reached his chest. It was warm enough that he didn't shiver at all. Looking down through the water, his legs didn't look nearly as thin and pale as they did normally. Soon, he told himself, he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. He may dislike Snape, but he didn't deny that the man was brilliant.

For the first time since therapy, Harry allowed himself to think about the things that he would do when he was back to his old self. First and foremost on his list was flying. At the current time, he was unable to get a good enough grip on the broom to get himself air born. Merlin, how he missed it! When he was younger, flying was the only thing that kept him sane. Soaring through the air had let him forget all of the turmoil that surrounded him. No doubt about it, there very first thing Harry was going to do was fly. He'd fly so far and so fast that no one could find him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Return of the Potions Master

It was pure and unadulterated spite, of that Severus was sure, yet he couldn't say he felt the smallest twinge of guilt as he added in a few extra ingredients to Bridden's final batch of potions. He couldn't resist smiling as he imagined his former housemate turning several shades of purple when he realized what Snape had done. Over the past year, Severus had made Bridden a rich man with his potions. The idea of taking advantage of a man who had literally lost everything but the clothes on his back was quite Slytherin….but so was this. How odd it was to think that this was all thanks to a bloody Gryffindor! The bag of money Harry had given him to start his experiments was more than ten times what it would really take to do the job, and he wasn't sure if Harry was aware of that. Severus Snape was not going to bemoan the boy's ignorance. He would accept money from one enemy if it meant proving another enemy to be a fool before one and all. Bridden's reputation would never recover from this, but it was no more than he deserved.

By the time Severus had shrunken all of the potions and wrapped them safely, he was nearly late for his meeting. Nothing had changed in The Leaky Cauldron since his last visit. Every eye stared at him with absolute hatred. Only Bridden didn't seem incensed by his very presence.

Bridden smiled with false friendship at the marked man. "All there?"

Severus nodded. "I made a few improvements to a few of them," he lied with a perfectly emotionless face. His years as a spy made this into child's play.

The man across the table was practically bubbling with anticipation of all of the money he was going to make off of these new "improvements." The would raise the price, but never give Severus an extra knut. "The next batch will need to be larger."

"I'm afraid there won't be a next batch."

Panic radiated from Bridden, but the greedy git managed to keep most of it under wraps. "Oh? You've found another source of income?"

"Yes," Severus said absently. "A former student….nothing much really."

"And if I doubled your current fee? Surely you new patron can't afford that," Bridden said haughtily.

It took all of Severus' will not to laugh at that statement. Harry could have bought Bridden a hundred times over with just what was in that bag, and after those potions were sold, Snape didn't think Bridden would be in much better straights than he himself had been after the war. "I will be paid well enough," he replied cryptically.

Bridden's shoulders sunk a bit. "If you change your mind, I may still be able to use you in the future," he offered trying to keep his pride.

That night, Severus still didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt for what he was doing to Bridden. There were very few things in his life that he had deemed worthy of that emotion, and he would waste an ounce on that bastard. The spaces on that short list were reserved for people who even his own twisted sense of morality couldn't fault. Most of his guilt could be summed up in one name, in fact. Albus Dumbledore. He couldn't deny that he should have found a way around his oath. He should have found a way to keep Dumbledore alive. There had to have been something that he didn't think of. True, Albus had begged him to do it, but it should never have come to that. Dumbledore was the one and only man who had ever had real faith in him. For that, Snape would have done anything Albus asked of him.

There were those who saw Snape as a man who was loyal to no one, but he was probably one of the most loyal men the world had ever known to those who earned that honor. To earn his loyalty, one must return it. Only Albus ever did that. Though the Order never really trust him, Albus knew him well enough to know that he never need doubt him. Yes, Dumbledore was the one man who had earned that kind of loyalty from the sullen potions master. Any one of the Deatheaters would have sold him out without blinking, and Voldemort was twisted beyond what even Harry knew. What had any of them done to deserve his loyal service? Nothing. Though, the Order—aside from Albus—had done little more.

Snape opened a bottle of expensive brandy. It wasn't exactly on his supply list, but Potter didn't need to know that. Good brandy was one of the few things that could draw Severus out into the muggle world. Muggles did know how to get pissed elegantly. Severus admired the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass. A bitter smile turned his lips, as he drank a silent toast to the Boy-Who-Had-Survived-By-Dumb-Luck-And-Blind-Courage. The turns of his life were nothing more than fucking ironic.

When Snape thought about the boy—which he rarely did—he couldn't help but marvel at how Potter had managed to live through it all with nothing more than a limp. As he'd said before, there were so many who didn't live through it. The Weasley boy had been only one of thousands. It astounded him that one semi-intelligent young wizard could dodge so many curses and actually kill Voldemort. There was no doubt that Harry was much more powerful that the average wizard, but to say that he was more powerful that even Dumbledore? Snape was more inclined to believe the boy was simply born with the devil's luck.

What didn't surprise Severus in the least was the boy's self-pitying attitude. Hadn't he always been like that? He had expected sympathy as a child just because he had lost his parents. Potter never stopped to think that he wasn't the only orphan. Of course James and Lily were the only parents killed by Voldemort. And Potter had such a horrible home life! Severus snorted. Everyone had some kind of sob story, Potter thought his was somehow more heart wrenching. Ironic that Potter's self-serving nature that would lead Snape to some sort of semblance of his old life. For that, Severus would almost thank him….almost.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Trial and Error

Harry woke from a dead sleep and gritted his teeth against the pain in his legs. White hot shards of agony formed at his hips sockets and ran straight down the bone. A trickle of blood ran down his lip from where he'd bit down. This was the price of standing on his own two feet, as Snape had put it. Magical medicine was leaps and bounds ahead of its muggle counterpart, but that didn't mean they had the answers for everything. Medi-wizards could give a patient potions to reestablish some nerve connections, but the side effects were often nearly as bad as the afflictions themselves. In Harry's case, the potion enabled him have a little range of motion below his waist. He could force his legs to move forward slowly and, with the help of feather light braces, walk haltingly. However, he didn't have any real feeling from his navel down. He did get twinges of things. Thankfully, he was free from any of the muggle methods paraplegics went through with bladder function. He could also feel indistinct pressure on his legs if he were to bump against something. The downside was that the potion sometimes caused the nerves to rebel. When the pain came, there was absolutely nothing to do but bear it. After an hour or so, the pain subsided to a dull ache and Harry laid back in bed still sweating from the torture.

Waking up in St. Mungo's had been a nightmare for Harry. He had hoped that, when he closed his eyes on the battle field, he would never wake again. It wasn't just the pain that he feared, but also the desolation that he felt. Harry knew that nothing would ever be the same again. His world had been torn to shreds at the hands of a mad man. His best friend, his future, and even his hope were all gone. There had been a small group of devoted friends that had pulled for him. Hermione had been mostly responsible for him not committing suicide once he was able. Yet even with friends, he wasn't the same, and he knew that he never would be again.

Harry dragged himself upright in bed. A flick of his wand brought the wheelchair from across the room to his bedside. At times like this, Harry didn't have the strength or endurance to walk. Even in the wizarding world, the wheelchair was still the most practically way for many disabled people to get around. There had been a time when even the sight of the chair would send Harry into a rage, but now he had mostly resigned himself to using the thing on occasion. He slid himself into the seat and wheeled himself to the kitchen.

A long time ago, Mrs. Weasley had taught him to add just a drop of dreamless sleep potion to his tea when things were dire. He missed the motherly woman more than words could express. In fact, he missed all of the Weasleys that had died fiercely. The massacre at the Burrows was still one of the most infamous attacks on purebloods. Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Fred, and Ron had all been brutally tortured and murdered. Their corpses were so badly mangled that it had even made Moody loose his composure. The three living Weasleys—Percy had been officially disowned—never did recover from the tragedy. Ginny eventually married Neville, but her spark was a little less dazzling these days. As for Bill…Harry didn't know exactly how Bill was. He'd heard rumors about Bill going mad, but he didn't know for sure. George was probably the most devastated by the death of his twin. Harry could never forget the look in the man's eyes as he shakily met his gaze, and said, "I've never been alone before. We were always together." In truth, Harry and Hermione faired only marginally better than the remaining Weasleys. The trio was no more.

Harry pushed away the painful memories, and added a second drop to his cup. Tonight demanded just a bit more than usual, he reasoned. Though he was well aware of the addictive properties to the potion, it seemed less dangerous than his own demons.

In the morning, Harry was feelingly much the same as he had when he'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't be smart to attempt to use his braces today, and he wouldn't dream of leaving the house in his chair. He wrote a quick note to his co-workers telling them to forward his papers to his home, and gave it to the dark brown owl in its cage After Hedwig, he refused to become attached to a bird.

The day passed slowly. Honestly, work occupied very little of his time. His job wasn't exactly had to do. Stifling a yawn, he flipped the last folder open. One of these days, he would tell the ministry to shove it up their arse and go find something he really wanted to do. There had even been a time when he had considered taking the DADA position at Hogwarts, but the place held too many memories. He thumbed through the pages unenthusiastically.

A pop sounding in the living room got his attention. Godric's Hollow only allowed a select few people to come and go as they pleased. Harry imagined it was just Hermione. "I'm in the study, Mione!" he called.

"Granger is not here," a deep voice said from the door way.

Harry glared at Snape. The potions master was the last person he wanted to see him like this. "I thought it would be a month or more?" Harry demanded.

Snape shrugged. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Don't see why it matters to you," Harry grumbled.

"It doesn't, but I have quite a few questions to ask before I start pouring potions down your throat," Snape explained caustically. His eyes locked with Harry's coldly.

Harry closed his file, and sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Over the next half hour, Harry answered almost every conceivable question about his condition. He kept his replies brief. Mostly, a yes or no sufficed. There was no false kindness between the two. Both men were focused on a goal. The last question, however, put a snag in their forced partnership.

Snape raised a dark brow, and gave Harry an indiscernible look. "And what about sexual function?"

Immediately, heat rose to Harry's cheeks. "That's none of your business."

A snort escaped the older man. "I forget that you are barely more than a child. Does the topic of sex make you uncomfortable?"

"No, I just don't think it's any concern of yours whether or not I get laid," Harry managed to say through his clenched teeth. He felt like a fourteen year old caught with a dirty magazine.

"If you aren't going to cooperate, Potter, this isn't going to go well."

"Fine," Harry spat angrily. "I don't feel a bloody thing below my naval, and my cock utterly useless. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Snape's eyes didn't betray an once of emotion. "Close enough."

Harry's head was aching. Between his lack of sleep and the stress of Snape's visit, he was not at his best. "Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"For now, no. I think your injuries may be harder to fix than I first thought. It may take me a bit longer to figure this out. Are you really prepared to allow me to test these potions on you?"

Harry's voice was barely a whisper: "yes."

"Then I will be back as soon as I find something."

Snape disapperated leaving a very weary Harry Potter sitting in his wheelchair with only his paperwork for company.


End file.
